


Infinity

by Substance



Series: Frailty [1]
Category: League of Legends
Genre: F/F, Fantasy, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 08:33:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2541200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Substance/pseuds/Substance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sejuani has been captured but she would rather die than submit to Ashe. Their convictions drive them apart as respect drives them together, and what should have been victory is no ending at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Infinity

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the rights to 'League of Legends'. This is written solely for entertainment, not profit. Please don't sue me, Rito.
> 
> Rated T for rapturous longing and physical distress.
> 
> This story is the first in a series, preceding "Dreams", "Vengeance" , "Prey" and "Gemini" (also on this site). I've tried to make each story coherent on its own but reading them in sequence is recommended. The fics concern an intimate (and rather antagonistic) relationship between a jungler and an adc. I apologise to any supports who feel threatened by this.
> 
> Also our two lovers are both women. If you object, I advise you to stop reading.

I once had infinity.

At the height of the Freljord, where the land met the sky, day and night stretched beyond the horizon. Midnight's sun gave way to a deathless moon. There were no walls within or without. Those with the strength to thrive could be all they wished.

Now all I have is a prison, darkness, the taste of leather and dirt, shackles binding my limbs.

A decent foe would have killed me, ended my life with honour and conviction, but not _her_. She personally gagged me so I would not bite through my tongue, and padded the wall so I would not crack my skull.

She wants me alive.

  


* * *

  


For all her talk, Ashe is not weak. She drew Lissandra to my troops. I was forced to retreat and fell into an ambush.

With no distractions, I can do naught but dwell on my lapse. My capture was fair. A colder heart won that day. What angers me is the gentle sadism and hypocrisy of her "mercy".

So I wait, refusing all nourishment. Dehydration will kill me. The headaches, confusion and sickness will be a welcome respite from my shame.

She knocks on the door, a pitiful courtesy. Entry is not mine to allow. She fears the embarrassment of watching me excrete. I never reply.

Ashe must have come straight from court, as if such a thing has a place in the Freljord. Her clumsy gown trails in the dirt. She pulls the garment aside as she closes the door. I watch the dress hug her side, revealing the hunter behind the theatre.

If I ruled, nature's art would be framed with weapons and armour, not smothered in velvet. Ashe is a masterpiece, nimble, precise, vivid, her eyes brighter than any piece of tat she drapes around her neck. That a goddess would constrain and coddle her tribe, when she could elevate them so, is intolerable.

She speaks. Above the dreary formality of her trappings, each word shines with crystal harmony. Her voice is the song of glaciers, the Freljord. She embodies the very thing that she would destroy. 'It hurts to see you like this.'

I want to tell her the feeling's mutual, that in her bunting she's nothing more than an empty cipher in bondage to a false myth.

'I'm… going to remove your gag. Just know that I have the means to save your life a dozen times over if you try anything.' She runs her fingers through my hair and behind my ears. Her tips are calloused from archery. I wonder if they still feel anything.

She undoes the rag. Knowing it may be my last chance, I unload as much spit on the floor as I can muster. She averts her gaze and says nothing. I break the silence. 'Have you come to express the terms of my surrender?'

'I seek to unite the Freljord, not conquer it.'

'Fine words from someone who would be queen.'

'I am a servant of destiny.'

'There is no such thing. The winter cares not for your tale.'

'I believe in our future.' She cups my face. I do not like such naked manipulation, imposing assent with nerves and chemicals. It is the lowest form of magic. 'There is a place for you, Sejuani, if only you could see it.' Her thumb brushes my lip. I bite. My tooth grazes her skin. A rope of saliva stretches and breaks as she retrieves her hand. There is no blood. She is tougher than she looks.

'With your "destiny" in place… there is no future.'

Ashe responds with a melancholy sigh. She produces a new gag and I clench my jaw, ready to make her work for my torment. However, my body is weak. I retch in pain as she kicks me in the belly, my reflexes too dull to flex my abdomen. Once more, her obscene digits are violating my mouth and I can only growl in protest. I envisage her sucking those fingers dry.

Ashe looks at me with sadness and… pride? We are both warriors and she respects my defiance. I would want the same from her if she were _my_ prisoner.

Not that I would keep her alive, naturally.

  


* * *

  


This is the greatest land in Runeterra. The only place where one can truly be free. There is nothing to compare with the open tundra. A woman is a giant with no walls to dwarf her. All ends are possible where there is no road to ordain your first step.

Here, one can embrace the kaleidoscope of mortal feeling and experience, unbound by the petty lunacy of custom.

Ashe means to bar us all from paradise because the least of her tribe may fall. I would save the Freljord from her… and Ashe from herself.

…no, she must die. There is no other way.

But if I narrow the future, limit its potential, I am no better than her.

My headache returns. I do not know whether I sleep or faint.

  


* * *

  


I can still feel her hands in my hair and mouth. Deprived of stimulation, my nerves echo what came before.

Like an amputee with a phantom itch, I find myself yearning for those hands. If they returned, I could ease my distress.

  


* * *

  


I barely acknowledge the wardens who visit my cell but there is one visitor I can't ignore.

Tryndamere looks absurd in his finery. He is like a child or pet, adorned by a senile governess, another victim of Ashe's dream. As with her, the image sells him short. He is far wilier than his crude reputation.

He slouches against the door, not lowering himself to ape royal comportment. 'I don't get it,' he says. 'If it were up to me, I'd gut you, one less flag for our enemies. Ashe ain't doing herself any favours and it would spare _you_ the pain of starving to death.'

'Then you should correct her mistake.'

'I can defy her but your head is a bridge too far.'

'Are you a man or a slave? If you can not act then what is the point of living?' Do my words anger Tryndamere? I can not say. One does not harness their rage for combat without some constraint. 'Where is your pride?'

'Gave that up when I spent a year in a cave. You can die with honour in the Freljord but you can't _live_ with it. Even Ashe, with the world at her feet, had to marry a brute she didn't love.'

'No doubt, _you_ are happy with the arrangement.'

'She's pretty but not my type. I'd sooner have a tribal matriarch with child-bearing hips and a taste for blood, not a dreamy slip of a girl who's all vision and majesty.'

'I could never pretend to love someone.'

Tryndamere reacts. He looks over me in clear surprise. 'You got me going there. For a moment, I thought you were Sejuani.'

'Every member of my tribe can stand on their own two feet. We can bond free of trivial concerns. Our unions grow from love and desire, not parlour games and fear.'

'Never thought life in the Winter's Claw was a non-stop orgy. I should visit more often.'

'You would be frustrated.' I sneer. 'The _Avarosan_ may swell from indulgence but we have nobility.'

'Hmph, maybe I did join the right side. That must be dull.'

'The truth we share is more exciting than any lie.'

Tryndamere rolls his eyes. 'You sound like _her_.' Straightening his back, he works out the kinks in his neck and shoulders. Evidently, he had kept his bad posture for too long. I dread the time I have to move. If an infection does not claim my hearing, I would go deaf from the creaking of my joints. At least I would not hear the mewling of an Avarosan crowd, or Ashe's hand-wringing, at my execution. 'Got to say, I thought you were a glorified raider but… you're serious.'

'I care not what you think.'

'Suits me.' He leans in to capture my gaze. 'But you're wrong about _us_ too. We don't go around with our heads up our backsides, talking in riddles. There are problems here, thousands, but we confront them. Ashe can be wrong and she crosses herself each day, but she _knows_.' There is a faraway tone to his voice. Perhaps he does feel something for Ashe, not love or affection but sympathy. She is beyond his pity and he knows it. 'She even tells me so… when she recalls I'm her husband.'

'I am surprised she keeps up her act behind closed doors.' I feel disappointed.

'There's no act. Everyone knows we haven't touched since our wedding night. Even then, Ashe wouldn't look me in the eye. She hoisted her skirt and bit down on the pillow until we had the bloody sheets to make it official.' He grimaces at the memory. 'I offered to cut myself but she feared someone would cast _clairvoyance_.'

I look away. My lip quivers with rage. That Ashe would present her intimate core for violation, and surrender what could have been a cherished memory, strengthened my belief that she was on the wrong path.

If I ruled the Freljord, every man and woman would be master of their own body and soul, no wanton tributes to perverse machinations.

Tryndamere reads my disgust. 'Are you upset? If _I_ were in your boots, I'd want to see my captor on all fours.'

'Why would I hear of your tribe's depravity when I fight against it?'

I recognize Tryndamere's expression, that of a powerless foot soldier, numb to pain and impotence. 'You won't accept anything, will you? No comfort, no mercy, not a thing that would lessen your purity.' He shakes his head. 'Meanwhile, we have you on a plate and Ashe would sooner risk the lives of her own than claim victory.'

My fury at Ashe ebbs a little. I imagine conquering the Freljord through negotiation and conclude I would rather die. No doubt, she feels the same about taking my life when we could all join hands. My stomach turns at the thought. However repellent, I can respect her goals more than Tryndamere's diffidence. 'You were once a force of nature. Now you go where the wind blows without care for anything greater. Leave before you sicken me further.'

'I have not changed. The first law of the Freljord is survival. I slaughter my enemies because I endure their blows.'

The door opens and Ashe comes in. She gives Tryndamere a dubious look and speaks coldly. 'What are you doing here?'

Tryndamere grunts. 'Her fate concerns me as well. I have every right to address her.' He shoots me a parting glance. 'It's been... enlightening. The "Winter's Wrath" has a romantic side.'

As he leaves, the wrongness of their pairing makes my head spin. Ashe's personal tendencies are as clear as the open sky. Her tread, her rapid eyes, are not those of a woman who craves brisk, sensible rutting for pleasure or conception.

No... Ashe would be furtive, passionate... an eager partner in mutual destruction. Those bright eyes flicker towards me and I imagine them on her pillow, squeezed shut above clenched teeth.

Ashe speaks. 'Did he touch you?'

I laugh darkly. If I were not chained, I could have strangled Ashe for her disingenuousness. Even if Tryndamere _had_ molested me, she would have to deny the event. 'No, your marriage is safe… for now.'

Her mouth twitches. I can feel the heat growing within her. 'Then what _did_ he mean?'

'On your wedding night...' I put myself in Ashe's position, the strongest political force in the Freljord submitting to loveless deflowerment, 'did you cry?'

I glimpse a flash of white hot emotion and briefly understand the shamans of the ursine. Apparently my disordered senses can see more than a clear mind. I saw anger at my pertinence and horror at my knowledge… but there was something else in the turn of her lips, the tide of her breath. I wondered how long it had been since anyone considered her inner life... long enough that delving was unthinkable.

She wants to confide but I am her enemy. If I am her only respite then she must forego as her destiny requires. Without a word, she leaves.

Viewing the walls of my cell, I am filled with doubt. Perhaps she merely thought me unpleasant. I miss the Freljord. If I had its freedom and power, I could show her. It doesn't have to be this way.

  


* * *

  


My release draws near. Stones flicker and dance. The familiar pain in my head is now excruciating. I sleep for most of the day and wake only to hang limp and dry heave. All I can do is yell to intensify the pain so I fall back into the land of merciful dreams.

They have brought food again. I recognise the smell of broth, salt and vegetables. They do not bring meat, lest I accuse them of serving Bristle. It gets easier to refuse food and water as I weaken. My gut contracts and rebels at the very thought of digestion.

When my jailor kneels before me, I see colours, blue and blonde. It is Ashe herself. She has put aside her gown to wear her cloak. My heart stops at her beauty. Perhaps it is not Ashe but a valkyrie, luring me to the grave.

Ashe dips her thumb in a jug of mead to wet my lips. Her touch! I had longed for it and I shiver with joy. She has cursed me with this terrible weakness. I had once thought my preference for women would protect me from dominance.

'Sejuani,' she says, 'please don't give up. It doesn't have to end this way.'

'I will never surrender.'

'You don't have to! We could unite the Freljord against Lissandra.'

'I could never abide your ways.'

'You can retain your lands.'

'For how long? You offer an easy life and many will accept. Peace and war are just two different battlefields. I would lose and rule nothing.' I resist the urge to suck the mead as it trickles down my chin. I distract myself from the taste by focusing on her hands, the smell of her armour. She is very close. 'You offer nothing but a... slow death. If you have any...' my next word was a mistake. I should have said "respect" but in my delirium, I say... ' _love_ for me then take my life.'

Ashe's head bows. Her pale throat undulates with each swallowed emotion. She sobs twice then cries openly. 'Why are you doing this?' Her voice is a girlish whimper. I should feel contempt but there is something primal in her grief. She is reverting to something more honest, more admirable. 'You have... so much! You are strong and brave and... sublime and you would sooner throw it away than... be with me.'

I stumble over my words. Her sorrow is contagious. 'I would ask you the same. You chain yourself with destiny, name yourself queen when you could be a... goddess.'

She holds me with her eyes, those brilliant blue eyes, then raises the jug to her mouth. I watch, mesmerised as she leans in and forces the life into me with her lips and tongue. Never had I known softness like this. It does not weaken but invigorate. I kiss her back and my heart pounds within my fragile skull.

I crave so much but these walls stifle me. I need to take Ashe away from here, across the endless plains, make love beneath the stars. Here, there is no future beyond one desperate kiss. It hurts. My lips are cracked. She must taste my blood.

Ashe withdraws. Without a sound, she undoes my chains then turns her back on me. Adrenaline gives me the strength to rise. I am dizzy. My toes writhe as they recall how to balance my weight.

Ashe finally speaks. 'This is not how it ends.'

'You would… throw away your beloved peace when you…?'

Her voice is like steel. I would gladly walk with her if she knew the right path. 'I have thrown away _nothing_. This is _not_ how it ends.'

'Is… this not your destiny?'

'I don't know,' her fingers dance with apprehension, 'but one chapter remains untold. I can't lose it… and neither can you.'

'If you had been _my_ prisoner, I…'

'You would _not_!' Like a true ruler, she brooks no dissent. Or maybe she is yelling to convince herself. 'I have stood here long enough. Even as you are, you could break my neck.' She lifts her chin. 'If you wish to rule the Freljord then take your prize!'

It is an offer I must accept. My desires are nothing compared to the Freljord's. The winter's rage empowers my weakened muscles and guides my hands to encircle Ashe's throat. Her skin burns. I have bathed in flesh and blood and fire but nothing compares to the heat of this woman. It draws me close and my arms pull her body into mine. Our cheeks brush. I want to kiss her again and she readily obliges.

I can not kill her, maybe on the field of sacred battle but not here.

Had I the strength to take her with me…

She gently pushes me away. 'Bristle is down the corridor on your right. We have taken care of him. You will not have to ride far. Udyr has been hounding our gates, waiting for an opening. He clearly has your rescue in mind.' She takes a deep breath, shaking with the knowledge of her actions. 'I… wish we could understand each other.'

'We do.'

'Yes… you're right.' Her smile is crooked. 'That's the problem. Is there really no hope?'

'Not here… but in the Freljord, there is always hope.'

'Thank you, Sejuani. If one of us needs to fall then… I will pray until the bitter end.' I can hear the despair in her voice, her fear of the world, her need to enclose and protect. It is like a toxin that poisons her every thought. I wonder if she could ever truly be happy.

I imagine her with children. If only I could love her as a man, I would give her the strongest bloodline to walk this land. For the first time in my life, I know pity. 'I have already fallen, Ashe.'

I leave quickly after that. The ache is too strong. A moment longer and I would be her slave. As I pass the threshold, I hear her whisper. 'As have I, Sejuani… as have I.'

  


* * *

  


Once more, I am atop the Freljord. I can foresee nothing... but infinity stretches before me, and, somewhere in its depths, is a future where we lie in each other's arms, free from obligation to the weak of heart.

If I ride far into the cold, follow my path to its deepest, darkest hell then I will know her warmth and if she follows her bright, peaceful sun, the figure eight will draw us together.

Until then, we fight.

**Author's Note:**

> There is a sequel called "Dreams". Also on this site.


End file.
